


Dance On the Edge

by redeyedwrath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frottage, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, One Night Stands, Pining, Teacher Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8011597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He isn’t even aware he’s staring until the guy turns that glare to him and Stiles can instantly feel his dick grow hard. Seriously, fear boners are a thing. He has the evidence in his too tight skinny jeans."</p>
<p>Or, in which Stiles has a one night stand to get over Lydia and falls in love. Yeah. Nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in my drafts since like... November 2015? So a long time haha, and I'm sooo glad I'm finally close to being done with it. 
> 
> Next part will be posted somewhere this week or next week I think...

“Damn it Stiles, you can’t stay in there!”

Stiles groans, cracking one eye open. Scott is knocking on his door – well, knocking isn’t really the appropriate word, it’s more like he’s trying to break it out of its hinges.

“Go away, Scott.”

He buries his head further in the pillow, wanting to choke himself with it or Scott - he isn’t sure which one he prefers. The banging on the door increases and it’s almost louder than the banging in his head.

“I’ve let you stay in there for three days,” Scott shouts, the door creaking. As much as Stiles wants him to fuck off, he can’t really afford to buy a new one. Besides, Scott might actually be able to break the freaking thing, which is not something Stiles is looking forward to cleaning up.

He attempts to get out of bed, he really does, but he’s turned into a less awesome version of Professor Xavier or something. He should’ve walked more the past few days - or walked at all. His legs quake beneath him, barely able to hold his weight but he presses on and walks to the door, opening the locks before Scott just busts through it.

“What do you want,” he slurs, squinting as the sunlight hits his eyes. He knows he must look like shit right now, but he honestly couldn’t care less. It’s not like Scott hasn’t seen him when he was worse off.

The crusts in his eyes and the bedhead and his general appearance probably ruin the effect of his glare on Scott – even though Scott’s been immune to it for years – because Scott just sighs and brushes past him. Stiles flinches as he realizes what his apartment must probably look like to an outsider right now: empty pizza boxes everywhere, closed curtains and a half-eaten tub of ice cream next to the couch.

Yes, Stiles is very much aware of the fact that he’s acting like a the stereotype of a broken heart, but he’s allowed to every once in awhile damn it, especially when Lydia –

Shit, he probably shouldn’t think about that or he’ll end up crying into Scott’s shoulder as they watch the Notebook together.

“I’m staging an intervention.”

Stiles groans and thumps his head back against the door. Scott’s last intervention had landed them both in jail for a night because of public nudity and generally being dicks. Not that the latter is something new, but alcohol just enhances Stiles’ natural dickishness and turns him into a Fuckboy Extraodinaire. The general consensus is that Scott should never stage interventions.

“Come on, man.” Stiles rakes his hands through his hair, wincing when he feels it stick up in tufts. He probably should’ve showered. “That’s really not necessary.”  

Scott just stands and gives Stiles a really thorough once-over. Stiles doesn’t think he looks that bad. He just hasn’t showered in days, is wearing a pair of ratty boxers and a shirt that’s falling apart at the seams and has been eating take-out and - okay, yeah, he probably looks bad.

“Point taken,” Stiles mumbles. “At least let me shower first.”

Scott wrinkles his nose at that, like he hadn’t smelled that Stiles reeked of filth and decay the second Stiles had opened the door. Stiles brushes past him, throwing his shirt on the ground on his way to the bathroom and pretends not to see the way Scott holds his breath as he walks past.

“Fuck you too, man,” he mumbles, shedding his boxers.

“Still don’t swing that way!” Scott shouts from where he’s probably sank into Stiles’ couch. Stiles just rolls his eyes.

He _despises_ Scott.

-

See normally, Stiles wouldn’t have worn plaid to a club. Mostly because Lydia had once told him she preferred it if he didn’t, but also because it was way too freaking hot. He really can’t care less though, because fuck Lydia and fuck Jackson and fuck everyone. Tonight is Stiles Night, as Scott had proudly proclaimed before he downed a shot together with Stiles.

He was definitely wrong. This is the best fucking idea Scott’s ever had. He turns around to tell Scott, but Scott isn’t there anymore, which, _rude_. They might be in a gay bar right now, but Scott’s not allowed to leave when he’s doing his Best Bro Support Time.

No thinking about Scott though. He orders a beer and sips at it - he isn’t drunk yet, but he’ll get there soon enough. As long as he stops crying over Lydia it’s all okay in his book, really.

He has a bit of a reputation at Jungle. He wouldn’t say it’s a good one, necessarily, but that would probably depend on who you asked. It might’ve had something to do with Scott’s last intervention and the public nudity, so he is used to people staring at him by now.

The only thing about it that really sucks, apart from the perpetual shame he feels whenever someone recognizes him, is that he can’t differentiate between the ‘ _oh jesus that’s the guy who stripped and humped a street lantern_ ’ look and the ‘ _shit I want to bone him_ ’ look. Sometimes it even amounts to the same which definitely doesn’t help. But hey, if humping inanimate objects does it for some people he isn’t going to complain.

He puts the empty beer glass back onto the counter and leans against the bar, trying to spot Scott. As far as he can see there aren’t any people in the dark corners so he should be somewhere? He chokes on air as he looks at the dance floor, seeing Scott entwined with a tall guy with blond curls.

The hysterical cackles escape him before he can help it and he doubles over with laughter. Scott looks up and glares at him - which, honestly, makes him look more like a kicked puppy than someone who’s actually intimidating.

“Still don’t swing that way, Scotty?”

Scott flips him off and goes back to dancing. Stiles looks away because some things are better left to the imagination. Not that Stiles ever imagines it, but you know, some things aren’t meant to be seen by Best Bros.

He lets his eyes roam over the crowd, trying to see if there’s anyone interested in him, because if Scott “I’m as straight as a totem pole” McCall can get laid, so can Stiles, right? Then again, maybe not, because literally everyone is dancing with someone else and Stiles is really not looking for a threesome today. A good dicking, yes, definitely yes, 100% yes, but a threesome has one dick too many.

His eyes land on a guy who’s leaning against a wall, glaring down at the crowd of grinding - excuse him, _dancing_ \- people. Jesus, Scott should take glaring lessons from this guy, seriously, his eyebrows are impressive. Then again, so are those biceps, straining against the sleeves of his white shirt as he crosses his arms. And oh, dear sweet Jesus, that’s a leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

He isn’t even aware he’s staring until the guy turns that glare to him and Stiles can instantly feel his dick grow hard. Seriously, fear boners are a thing. He has the evidence in his too tight skinny jeans.

“Can I get a get a shot?” he asks the blonde who’s serving in an attempt to distract himself from Tall, Dark and Absolutely Gorgeous. Alcohol is good. Maybe some liquid courage will help him get into the guy’s pants. Then again, the expression of distaste on his face doesn’t really bode well for him.

He smiles as he chugs down the shot, the burning sensation in his throat reminding him that he is indeed pathetic. When he turns back, the guy’s gone. Well, that’s kind of anticlimactic. Stiles was really looking forward to sucking his dick.

“Can I help you?” a soft voice says into his ear as a warm body presses against him. Stiles doesn’t shriek - because he’s a manly man who does manly things - but it’s a close thing.

“Depends,” Stiles says, letting a smirk pull at the side of his mouth. “I have some special needs that I want to take care of.”

The guy hums in his ear, fingers trailing down Stiles’ sides and circling the hem of his shirt. Stiles feels himself flush and he leans back against the guy, letting his head fall back so he can make out a stubbled jawline.

“Want to dance?” the guy asks, fingers dipping just below the waistline of Stiles’ pants. Stiles nods, biting back a whimper, and runs his nose over the curve of the guy’s jaw.

“If you tell me your name.”

The guy laughs, breath flowing out over Stiles’ skin. Stiles shivers and moves to grab one of the guy’s hands - broad palms and wide fingers, _oh god_.

“Derek.”

“Well, Derek, I’m Stiles. Lead the way.”

Derek’s body is moving with his, his back pressed against Stiles' chest and it’s warm, way too warm. There are bodies everywhere, stumbling around and pushing against them, but Stiles doesn’t care. All he can focus on is Derek, and he moves his hands up Derek’s shirt, runs them over his stomach before trailing over his hipbones. He can feel Derek’s gasp against his chest, the way his hips stutter in their rhythm before picking up the pace again and Stiles grins against Derek’s neck.

“Asshole,” Derek pants, twisting around in Stiles' grip and Stiles smirks at him, feeling the hitch in Derek’s breath, seeing the way his pupils dilate as Stiles moves closer and closer.

“Oh?” Stiles says, letting his breath fan out over Derek’s lips. “Want me to leave?”

“God, no.” He feels Derek’s fingers travel from his shoulders to his hair, fisting it and pulling him close. Derek kisses him like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting for this and Stiles kisses back just as hard, rolling his hips into Derek’s. They break apart panting and Stiles smirks, resting his forehead against Derek’s.

Derek is flushed, the blush almost a permanent feature on his face. The neon is reflecting off his eyes, making them seem like a kaleidoscope of colors and Stiles feels kind of lost. He wants to look at Derek forever, at the way his eyes look at him shyly and enticingly at the same time, the way the lights frame his head like a halo and, God, Stiles isn’t convinced Derek isn’t an angel.

“That’s flattering,” Derek breathes and Stiles stammers for a moment – apparently he said that out loud, what the fuck – and he nuzzles his head against Derek’s neck, feeling Derek’s pulse race under his mouth, heart beat-beat-beating as his breath hitches on a needy whimper when Stiles scrapes his teeth over a particular sensitive spot at the underside of his jaw.

“Jesus,” Derek repeats. “If I’m an angel I’m definitely going to Hell for this.”

Stiles smiles against Derek’s neck, his chest heaving. “I certainly wouldn’t mind some company at home.”

Derek laughs, a sound that leaves Stiles breathless, and he wants to make Derek laugh until his voice is hoarse. Derek’s nails scrape over his scalp and Stiles has to resist the urge to whimper – he wants to get back to Derek, wants to feel skin on skin and teeth and tongue – but Derek keeps him upright.

His eyes are twinkling in the purple light and it makes him seem so otherworldly that Stiles _has_ to grab Derek’s waist. Blushing, Derek says, “That can be arranged.”

-

When they get to Stiles' apartment, Stiles presses Derek against the wall, Derek’s arms going tight around his shoulders. He kisses Derek, licking into his mouth and Derek just takes it, leans against the wall and gives Stiles everything he needs, occasionally making high, needy noises in the back of his throat when Stiles presses forward. He feels like he’s drowning in the sound, the _feel_ of Derek’s body against his, and he can’t seem to stop.

He grabs Derek’s wrists and pins them against the wall, and Derek’s groans get higher and tighter, until Stiles pulls back to see if he’s okay with all of this. The muscles under Stiles' palm are flexing and pulling, and he almost lets go, until Derek chokes out, “don’t stop.”

He’s immediately back in Derek’s space, hands pressing harder, mouth back against Derek’s. Derek strains against his grip, but now he knows it’s different, because Derek is testing how strong his hold is, how strong Stiles is and Stiles hears a broken moan tumble from his lips.

Stiles can’t keep pinning his wrists though, not when Derek is making those noises into his mouth, and his hips keep rocking up. It makes Stiles' hands itch for more, and they glide down almost subconsciously, trailing a path down Derek’s neck to wrap around his waist.

“Bed,” Derek pants against his mouth and Stiles hums absentmindedly, trailing bites and kisses down Derek’s neck as Derek’s fingers clench and unclench in his hair. “Bed, Stiles. The _bed_.”

“Bed,” Stiles repeats. “Right. That way.”

He untangles himself from Derek, grabbing his hand and more or less pulling him towards the open door to his bedroom. It’s a bit messy, and normally he’d care about that when a cute guy was in his room, but now said cute guy is whimpering and practically clinging to him, and Stiles just about throws him onto the bed, climbing up after him.

Derek whimpers in pleasure, head falling back against the blanket when Stiles bucks his hips down hard against Derek’s, the flush on his skin rising higher and hotter. They both ease into a rhythm, find an angle to tilt their hips, hard lengths dragging against each other.

“Oh Jesus, Derek.”

Derek nods against the pillows, eyes shut and mouth open as groans escape. Stiles tucks his face into Derek’s throat, biting at it. It’s not enough, and he almost yanks Derek’s shirt off of him, grabbing his own and throwing it away.

Only seconds later they’re on the bed again, hot skin sliding against skin, and it feels so dangerously good that Stiles has to bite down on Derek’s collarbone, licking away at the sweat gathered there. Derek shudders with every swipe of Stiles' tongue, cries out when teeth scrape over his nipples. They don’t stop moving, locked together as Derek arches his back, whining as he says, “Stiles, _fuck_. I can’t hold on- I can’t- I need to-”

Stiles whimpers back, pressing down heavily against Derek’s chest, mouth open and panting against Derek’s throat. “Do it.”

Those words seem to do it, every muscle in Derek’s body going tight against him as he surges up, clinging to Stiles while he comes.

“Jesus,” Stiles pants, quickly opening his pants and dragging them down together with his boxers, working his hand over his cock, lost in the smell of sex and Derek, the sight of Derek’s eyes glued to his hand as he comes down from his high.

He can feel his toes curling, hot fire shooting through his veins as he comes, muscles tensing as he clenches a hand in the sheets. He collapses on top of Derek, his chest heaving. Derek is loose and pliant underneath him, repeating his name until Stiles stirs, opening his eyes.

“What,” he murmurs.

“Round two in a few minutes?”

Stiles’ cock twitches. Oh yeah, this is going to be interesting.

-

Stiles wakes up warm and soft and totally blissed out. Seriously, he doesn’t think he’s felt this relaxed since he was a teenager and could sleep for days. He shifts in the sheets, patting the bedding next to him, only to find that Derek isn’t there anymore.

He shoots up, rubbing at his eyes, because that had been some damn good sex and Stiles definitely wouldn’t mind going out with him once. Or twice. Or maybe for the rest of his life.

He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees Derek standing at the foot of his bed, hair sticking up on one side and pillow creases on his face. He looks freaking adorable. That’s when he sees Derek’s phone in his hand.

“God, of course I will pick up our son later today,” Derek bites out, fingers fumbling with his belt buckle. His phone is jammed between his shoulder and his ear and it makes his biceps bulge and hot _damn_ , how did Stiles even tap that? He must be some kind of sex god or -

Wait.  Did Derek just say “our son”? Stiles shoots upright, narrowly avoiding the headboard and his heart pounds because Derek _has a son and a wife oh god_. Stiles had helped someone cheat, oh Jesus, he should get out, Derek should get out -

“Want to grab a coffee?” Derek asks as he slips on his shirt. Stiles watches Derek’s fingers comb through his hair and he can’t look away, can’t stop thinking about how those fingers were _in him_ last night and _Jesus_ , the guy’s fucking cheating on his wife and Stiles can’t stop thinking about how good it felt when Derek’s dick was fucking into him.

“I don’t-“ he starts, but he falters when Derek looks up at him, eyes wide and wounded. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Okay,” Derek says quietly and he slips on his jacket, the corners of his mouth turned downwards and Stiles wants to kiss him until he’s breathless, but Derek’s fucking _married_ and he can’t do this. He’s been That Guy before and he’s not going to be That Guy again.

“Well,” Stiles says, trying to break the awkward silence. “See you later, I guess. Or, well, never.”

Derek nods and walks out of his bedroom, taking all his belongings with him and Stiles suddenly feels really small in his room. The front door clicks and creaks as it’s opened and Stiles has to physically hold himself back from running after Derek.

_Married_ , he tells himself, digging his fingernails into his palms. _The dude’s married_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hale snorts and Stiles looks up at her with a small frown. She seems completely unconcerned with the list in front of her. Derek, however, is grimacing, his scowl growing as he gets further down the list.
> 
> “I was under the impression Jackson didn’t get a lot of detentions,” Derek mumbles, voice soft and contemplative and god, how Stiles has missed hearing that voice. He remembers it calling out his name, desperate and begging and –
> 
> _Married, married, married. Keep it in your pants, Stilinski._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooo dudes this is it! The second part! It's finally done oh my god I could _cry_ this fic has been in my drafts for so long and it was silently judging me and now it's finished fuuuck
> 
> (Also thanks to [LadyDrace](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com) for looking over this and teaching me how to be a parent)

Stiles stares at the muffin in front of him. It’s vanilla with whipped cream on top, and normally he would’ve dug in already. There’s coffee standing next to it, steam drifting off it unassumingly, and all Stiles can think about is _Derek_.

“Stiles?” Allison asks, sliding into the booth next to Scott. He gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You okay?”

“ _End my existence_.”

He lets his head fall forward onto the table, careful to avoid the muffin. It’s an uncomfortable position and the table’s probably dirty, but he’s really not in the mood to look up and see Scott staring at Allison like she’s the best thing in the world and he loves her.

“What happened?” Allison whispers - probably to Scott - and Stiles would glare at her if he wasn’t feeling like shit.

“Apparently the guy he took home last night was cheating on his wife.”

Stiles groans, thunking his head against the table again. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to talk about that right now, but it’s all he can fucking think about because _Derek_.

“Aw baby, I’m sorry,” Allison says, patting his head. Stiles huffs but leans into it, shivering when her nails scrape over his scalp.

“He was really pretty, Ally,” he moans, turning his head so his cheek’s resting against the surface. Allison gives him a half-smile.

“I know. You’ll get over him, I promise.”

Stiles snorts and turns his head back, thumping it against the table again for good measure. He’s not sure if he will.

-

Stiles hates meeting the parents of the kids he teaches. Don’t get him wrong, he loves teaching and he loves the kids, even if they can be spoiled brats sometimes, but the parents, man. They’re all so self-entitled, like they expect Stiles to tend to their every whim just because he’s paid to teach their kids math.

Though that’s probably the drawback of being a teacher in a school for the Rich and the Asshole. At least it pays well, even if he has to deal with the parents once every blue moon.  

“Right, Jackson’s parents,” he mumbles to himself.

Which brings him to the part he despises most. Jackson is probably the most spoiled kid Stiles has ever seen and he intensely dislikes - not hate, never hate - him with every fiber of his being. Jackson probably would’ve picked on Stiles if Stiles was not a teacher but instead a fellow student. The worst thing is that the apple probably won’t fall from the tree.

Luckily for him, this is also the last meeting he has tonight, so after this he can just crash and play Halo for a while. He steels himself with that in mind, and opens the door with a fake smile on his face.

“Hello madam, it’s nice to meet you,” he says politely as he shakes Mrs. Hale’s hand. She just scans down his body, eyes flitting over his cardigan and khakis before she pulls her nose up in disdain. Shit, this is going to be freaking horrible.

He turns to greet Mr. Hale, the smile on his face bigger - and also faker - before he freezes. Oh Jesus, he takes everything back, this is going to be the worst fifteen minutes of his life, because in front of him is _Derek_.  

“Hi, sir.” Stiles swallows as he shakes Derek’s hand and tries to ignore the way Derek glares at him. His hands are big, broad palms and long fingers and _shit_ those fingers were _in_ him, tweaked his fucking nipples until he came, and Stiles needs to die right now. A freak tornado or something.

“Hello,” Derek says, voice thick with something. Disgust, probably, Stiles thinks.

Stiles forces himself to smile. “Please, sit down.”

Derek nods, frowning. Stiles forces himself to breathe (In three, hold three, out three) before he closes the door, trying his best not to think about the last time he locked the door when he was in the same room as Derek.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Stiles says, weaving his fingers together. He grabs Jackson’s file, just to avoid looking into Derek’s eyes.

“No problem,” Mrs. Hale says with a tight smile. Stiles glances over to Derek and swallows. Mrs. Hale, he reminds himself. Married.

“To put it bluntly,” Stiles starts, opening the file and pulling out a list of Jackson’s latest detentions. “Jackson’s a bright kid, but he seems to be a bit too focused on Lacrosse – both on and off the field. He got detention for tackling another student to the ground two weeks ago.”

Mrs. Hale snorts and Stiles looks up at her with a small frown. She seems completely unconcerned with the list in front of her. Derek, however, is grimacing, his scowl growing as he gets further down the list.

“I was under the impression Jackson didn’t get a lot of detentions,” Derek mumbles, voice soft and contemplative and god, how Stiles has missed hearing that voice. He remembers it calling out his name, desperate and begging and –

_Married, married, married. Keep it in your pants, Stilinski._

He shifts, and Derek’s eyes snap up to his. The corner of Derek’s mouth turns up into a smirk, and his eyes flicker down Stiles’ chest before looking up again, and Stiles pretends Derek’s gaze doesn’t feel like a physical touch.

“Well,” Stiles snaps. “He does. And whether or not you want to tell him off, I feel like you should at least be informed. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them. Otherwise, please excuse me. I have things I need to do.”

Derek’s expression falls back into a scowl and he looks down at the list in front of him. Stiles clenches his hands into fists until his knuckles turn white, but no matter how much he tells himself he’s making the right decision, it’s so hard to not blurt out something like, ‘God, please fuck me again.’

“Right.” Derek’s face is carefully blank and Stiles has to stop himself from flinching. “I think I’ll talk to Jackson. Got any questions, Jennifer?”

Mrs. Hale – Jennifer, apparently – snorts and shakes her head. “No. Though I don’t see the problem when it comes to the detentions. Boys will be boys, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles does flinch this time. “Of course, Mrs. Hale.”

The rest of the meeting is just as unproductive. Mrs. Hale doesn’t even seem to care about what Jackson does as long as he’s not kicked out of school and Stiles starts to hate her more with each passing second.

“Well, if that’s all?” Mrs. Hale says when they’re done, eyebrow raised. Stiles nods and tries not to want to strangle her.

“Yes, good evening.”

Mrs. Hale gives him a tight smile and turns on her heel, storming out of the room. Stiles drops his head in his hands. He should’ve known Jackson’s parents were going to be equally as dickish.

“You okay?”

Stiles snaps his head up, heart pounding. He’d completely forgotten about Derek - or, well, he’d assumed Derek had left together with his wife. Instead, Derek’s still sitting on the chair, face soft and eyes worried. Stiles stops breathing.

“I’m fine, it’s-” he swallows. “It’s fine.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth twitches upward. “It’s okay. God knows she can be a handful sometimes.”

He stops, frowning. Derek looks amused. Like he wasn’t talking about his wife. Like he wasn’t _insulting_ her, like this is all some fucking joke. He feels a hot flash of rage shoot through him, and before he knows it he’s on his feet.

“Sorry, I have,” he hesitates, steeling himself. “I have things to do.”

“Of course. Sorry for holding you up.”

Derek looks away, and Stiles can see the downward turn of his mouth. He clenches his hands into fists. No matter how much Derek seems to hate his wife, Stiles can’t do this. He _can’t_.

He just – he needs to get out, away from Derek Hale and his ridiculous eyes and his ridiculous smirk and his ridiculous voice, because Derek is married and he has a kid and Stiles helped him cheat and Derek has the nerve to look at Stiles like he wants him again.

He nods, waving a hand in goodbye before practically running out the door. He only stops when the school’s out of sight, when he’s as far away from Derek as he can be at the moment.

He chokes on a sob. It’s fucking cliché, sitting on a sidewalk, watching the moon through blurry eyes. He’s sure he looks like a freaking emo teenager right now, but he couldn’t care less.

He balls his hands, making fists and pressing them into his eyes until spots start to swim in his vision. He wants to swing them at Derek, because he fucked everything up with those pretty, what-the-fuck-colored eyes. How could he cheat on his fucking wife like that and look Stiles in the eye with her sitting next to him?

Steps are echoing behind him, and they sound too hard in his ears, almost like the person’s making an effort to startle him. He knows it’s Scott – because it’s always Scott. A warm hand covers his shaking shoulder and he leans into it.

“You okay, man?” Scott asks, his voice warm. Stiles tries to shake off his hand, because it’s burning through him, because this feels so fucking wrong.

“It’s fine.”

“Remember Derek?” His voice breaks as he says Derek’s name, but Derek’s being a dick and he’s allowed to cry, dammit. “He and his wife were at the meeting tonight. And he kept _looking_ at me.”

“Shit, dude, really? That’s such a shit thing to do,” Scott says as he squeezes Stiles’ shoulder, because Scott is a good friend when he needs to be.

It’s so unfair. Stiles is always interested in the hot assholes, and Derek kept looking at him like Stiles did something wrong, like _Stiles_ was the one who cheated on his wife, and he looked immaculate, hair perfectly styled and sleeves pushed up to his elbows and Stiles hates him.

“I hate him, Scott.”

“I know,” Scott says, pulling Stiles tight against him. “I know.”

-

“Stiles, oh my god,” Scott shouts. Stiles throws a pillow at the door.

“Go away.”

He’s whining – again – and sitting on the couch, eating ice cream like some loser – again – but what can he say? Stiles has always been a sucker for routine and this is, apparently, no different.

“Open the goddamn door or-“

“Or what, Scott?!” Stiles yells, feeling the tears start again. He laughs harshly, throwing his head back. “You’ll stage an intervention? Because that went so well last time. Let’s force me to hook up with someone and pine over them again, sound like a good fucking idea to you?”

“Look I’m sorry, okay? I had no idea this would happen, now let me in.”

Stiles throws another pillow at the door. “No.”

“Come on, man! I promise there’ll be no interventions, just totally manly bro hugs and shoulder-leaning.”

Stiles sighs, tapping a rhythm against the tub of ice cream. That does sound appealing. Damn Scott for being such a good friend sometimes.

“Fine,” he sighs, trotting over to the door, trying not to stumble over the edge of his too-long sweatpants.

“You look awful,” is the first thing Scott says when Stiles opens the door.

“I know. Thanks for pointing it out. Now, if that’s all you have to say feel free to fuck off.”

“Don’t be like that, dude,” Scott says, putting a foot between the door and the frame to stop Stiles from closing it. Stiles sighs and walks back to the couch, placing the ice cream in his lap again. Scott sits down next to him, placing a hand on his knee and squeezing.

“I really liked him, Scott.”

“I know, man.”

“He’s just really freaking pretty.”

He leans into Scott’s space, and Scott tilts up his arm so Stiles can snuggle into his side. Stiles smiles faintly and rests his head on Scott’s chest, throwing an arm around Scott’s waist. Having Scott as a best bro comes with its perks.

“You’ll be okay,” Scott says, fingers combing through Stiles’ hair. “You always are.”

Stiles snorts and buries his head in Scott’s chest. He’s so far from okay right now it’s not even funny.

-

Life goes on, unfortunately, and on Monday morning, Stiles is standing in front of a classroom again. It’s his only Junior class which is a good thing, but it’s also Jackson’s class. Which has always been a bad thing, but now it’s even _worse_.

Because every time Stiles looks at him, the only thing he can think is ‘ _I fucked your dad and I may or may not be heartbroken_.’

He doesn’t think his students noticed it or anything, and if they did, they didn’t comment on it. He’d tried his best to look presentable today, but he’s pretty sure his hair still sticking up weirdly or whatever. He runs his hands through it, swallowing and trying not to look at Jackson in the back.

“Okay guys, one last thing,” he says. “For this field trip I’m going to need you to write down where to pick you up and drop you off. If you’re not being picked up or dropped off at home, please make a note of that, too. I know some of you are from divorced households, and I’d rather avoid dropping you off in the wrong place.”

Some of the kids groan and Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes because he didn’t even give them a homework assignment. It’s never good enough when it comes to teenagers, Jesus.

He gives them a little bit of time to write down their addresses before he collects them all. He moves to the back last - not just because it’s the furthest distance away but because _Jackson_.

He tries his hardest not to focus on Jackson when he hands Stiles his scrap of paper. There’s an itch telling to peek, just a little bit and he bites his lip. It’s not like he needs to see proof of the fact that Derek’s married but he just - he _needs_ to look.

There are two addresses on the paper, one called ‘ _Dad’s_ ’ and one called ‘ _Mom’s_ ’ and _oh my god._

Mom’s and Dad’s. That means they’re divorced. _Divorced_. That means - oh my god, that means that Derek hadn’t been cheating on his wife. That means Stiles had _turned him down_.

He barely even sees the kids leave his classroom because _divorced_. Derek’s _single._ He pulls out his phone, hitting two on his speed dial.

“Scott, I did something really stupid and you need to help me fix it.”

He hears some rustling on the other end of the phone before Scott clears his throat. “What’s wrong man?”

Stiles resists the urge to laugh because what _isn’t_ wrong? He’d turned Derek down and Derek probably hates him and he’s been moping all this time for _freaking nothing_?

“Apparently Derek’s _divorced_. As in, he was married but he isn’t anymore so I _turned him down_ and oh my god, I regret all my life’s decisions right now and-”

“Woah, Stiles, take a deep breath,” Scott says, voice worried.

Stiles swallows, clenching and unclenching his fingers rhythmically. He hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t breathing.

“Right,” he says, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “Right, breathing.”

“Okay, now you’re going to go over to Derek’s and _apologize_.”

“ _What_?!” Stiles yells into the receiver. “Are you kidding me? I would _die_ or Derek would kill me or he’d laugh at me and I’m really not in the mood for more humiliation, thanks.”

Scott snorts and Stiles almost goes off on him, because _thanks Scott, that’s really fucking helpful_. He feels like he’s going to puke his lungs out.

“No, no, _dude_. Think about this for a second: Derek thinks you turned him down because you didn’t want him. You turned Derek down because you thought he was cheating on his ex-wife.”

“God, Scott, I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know. Go get ‘em bro.”

-

He shows up at Derek’s house panting. After realizing what a giant idiot he’d been he may or may not have memorized Derek’s address and ran there.

He breathes in, then out again, trying to steal himself. The door seems oddly imposing like this, but he’s going to knock. He _has_ to knock.

“What are you doing here,” Derek says when he opens the door, voice flat. Stiles swallows and shifts his weight from one foot to another.

“Okay, just for clarification: You’re not married, right?”

Derek frowns, eyebrows dropping as he shakes his head.

“Good,” Stiles says, feeling breathless as Derek’s eyes dip down to his lips and back up again. “That means I can do this.”

Stiles leans forward and kisses him. Derek makes a sound against his lips, and for a second Stiles is worried it’s a complaint before Derek’s fingers scramble to the back of his neck to hold Stiles to him.

“I thought-” Derek whispers when he pulls back, forehead resting against Stiles’. “I thought you didn’t want me because I have a kid.”

Stiles opens his eyes, seeing the creases in Derek’s forehead. He smoothes his thumb over them. “I turned you down because I thought you were married.”

Derek’s eyes snap open, eyebrows heavy. His fingers swipe over the nape of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles shivers. “Jennifer and I haven’t been together for three years now.”

“Well I didn’t know that!” Stiles protests, pulling back. Derek huffs and crashes their lips together again.

“God, you’re an idiot,” he breathes and Stiles smiles against his lips.

“Dad, what the hell are you doing with Bilinski?”

Derek jumps back, hitting his head against the door. Stiles snickers as Derek turns around, eyes wide and hair sticking up on one side.

“Bilinski?” Stiles asks Jackson, who’s watching him with raised eyebrows. Jackson’s cheeks color.

“I mean uh-” Jackson scratches the back of his head. “Mr. Stilinski?”

“Right,” Stiles snorts. Derek’s watching their exchange with a frantic look in his eyes. Stiles reaches out to smooth Derek’s hair down. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Right,” Derek coughs, the tips of his ears red. Stiles resists the urge to coo. “Come in?”

“Gladly.”

Derek sends him a half-smile and Stiles feels his heart skip a beat. Derek’s hand is warm against his lower back as he pushes him forward.

Yeah, Stiles could probably get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it bros! The end! And they lived happily ever after ^^
> 
> Tell me what you thought please? I'm dying to get some comments please save my ass
> 
> [Also hi I have a Tumblr you can see me scream about my crush 'cause I'm ridiculously gay for him](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [LadyDrace](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com) for looking over this and telling my asexual ass that the smut wasn't that horrible ^^
> 
> Please please please _please_ leave a comment telling me what you thought of it, I'd really appreciate it and I know it's cliché but it does help me write faster...
> 
> [*whispers* Yo I have a Tumblr where you can poke me if you'd like](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)


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